


Gently They Fall

by merentha13



Category: Inspector George Gently, The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-04 23:51:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: Detective Constable Raymond Doyle was put into an undercover operation to bring to light the extent of the corruption in the Met Drugs Squad. It cost him dearly. As CI5 Agent Raymond Doyle, he is asked by the DCI of a new task force to give it another go. Doyle is willing, Cowley is miffed and Bodie is not happy.





	Gently They Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I was lucky enough to have two very talented artists for my story this year. Links to the artist's posts are here:
> 
> **Link to Art:[Art Master Post/Loxleyprince-Gently They Fall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12178161)**
> 
> **Link to Art:[Art Master Post/mella68-Gently They Fall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12204975)**
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to both - the art is gorgeous!

[ ](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/merentha13/21454005/183230/183230_original.jpg)

_“Darkness... When everything that you know and love... is taken from you so harshly... all you can think about is anger, hatred, and even revenge... and no one can save you.”_ ― Masashi Kishimoto

_“It’s the lies you tell yourself that kill you.” George Gently_

 

 **Part 1** (London 1960s)

Something wasn’t right. A niggling of his copper’s nose, as his mum had called it, had Detective Constable Raymond Doyle’s instincts roused. The raid had gone down as planned. He was sure that enough evidence had been collected to put Millwater and his gang away for a very long time.

He ran a hand through his hair to collect his thoughts. Finding nothing but curls, he remembered losing his hat in the scuffle with the thugs. He didn’t really need it now that the undercover was over, but, he admitted to himself with a self depreciating smile, that he kind of liked the way it looked on him. Sighing, he wandered slowly to the back of the garage keeping an eye out for the missing flat cap.

He walked towards where the evidence was being inventoried and loaded into a police van. A gut feeling had him stepping behind a stack of boxes where he could watch the two Met officers but not be seen. Detective Superintendent Preston and Detective Inspector Montgomery were tallying the drugs and money. The two men were laughing and Doyle felt his anger rise as he saw Preston put an envelope in his coat pocket and watched Montgomery help himself to a package of white powder. Doyle started to move towards them, but was dragged back behind the pile of boxes, a hand covering his mouth. He struggled to get loose. An ID was pushed in front of his face and a quiet voice said, ‘Inspector Gently would like a word with you.”

 

A word the man had said. Inspector Gently had wanted much more than a word and now Detective Constable Doyle found himself in a role that kept him from sleeping nights. He had become, at Gently’s request, what he most hated – a bent copper.

“I know I’m asking a lot, Constable. But I’ve been watching you. You’re a man who shares my beliefs. The law is the law. No one is exempt from it. Not you, not me, not the thugs parading around as police officers. I’m hoping, with your cooperation, we can stop some of the corruption that has plagued this department for years.”

“And how am I to do that?”

“Become one of them.”

“What? They all know I’m not bent. They stay clear of me for that very reason.”

“I can take care of that. With the help of your DS Richards rumours can be spread, an investigation undertaken and a reprimand issued for one DC Doyle. Disillusionment sets in. You’re unhappy with your current role in the force. You watch as other coppers line their pockets and get away with it. You let your growing cynicism show. They’ll approach you. You’re good at undercover – you can make this work."

“Maurice is involved?”

“Yes, I’ve known him to be a good copper. He’s the one that pointed me to you.”

“Oh, yes? I’ll have to remember to thank him.”

  
[ ](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/merentha13/21454005/182226/182226_original.jpg)

 

And several months later, here he was. The plan had worked. He’d been accepted into Preston’s gang of thugs. _“Become one of them.”_ And he had. Pushing the Inspector’s voice and his own justification out of his head, and hating what he’d become, he walked into the delicatessen. He leaned on the counter and made sure the butt of his truncheon was visible to the man at the register.

“C’mon, Mr Lieberman – you know the routine.” Doyle spoke with disdain, mostly directed at himself.

“You again,” the elderly man sighed as he counted money into Doyle’s hand.

Doyle motioned with his other hand to indicate more cash was needed.

Lieberman spat on the floor and counted out another £20. “Never expected to see you doing this, Constable.” He looked Doyle in the eye. “Thought you were a better man.”

“Yeah, well, gotta make a livin’, don’t I?” He pocketed the cash. “You let me know if you have any more trouble with that gang of young hoodlums. I’ll see you next week.”

He ignored the mumbled curses that followed him out the door.

  


Weeks of doing this and worse. He wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take and still live with himself. He was a copper – supposed to be helping people, making their streets safer. Instead he was collecting protection money, looking the other way when evidence disappeared, threatening witnesses and watching as arrests were overturned. He saw money and drugs exchanged for favours. All of this he reported to Inspector Gently, as the DCI put into motion a plan to stop the blackmail and dishonesty. So far, there’d been no progress.

Leaving the deli he headed towards the next shop on his list.

“Doyle! Hold on a minute.”

He cringed when he heard the voice call to him. Detective Superintendent Preston, one of the leaders of the protection racket, ran across the street to join him.

“Preston. What’s up?”

“We need a word with you.”

The hair on the back of Doyle’s neck rose and his skin prickled. “We?”

“Yeh, Montgomery and me - we’ve heard some rumours, you see. Need to have a chat with you. To clear things up.”

Preston grabbed Doyle’s arm and led him into an abandoned book store where he was pushed into a circle of other policemen. None of them was from his squad.

Preston closed the blinds on the window and nodded at the other officers. “Teach DC Doyle about what happens to snitches.” He quietly closed the door as he left.

 

The unbearable pain in his right cheek dragged Detective Constable Raymond Doyle back to consciousness. He had no idea how long he had been lying on the cold lino. His head throbbed when he tried to sit up and his stomach roiled with nausea. He felt warm blood run over his lips and chin.

Gunshots, threats and yelled orders sounded from the street outside. The chaos seemed to go on forever. The shop door flew open and banged hard against the wall. An officer, gun drawn peered around the edge of the door frame.

“Bloody hell.” The man hurried across floor and knelt beside him.

“Inspector Gently?” Doyle croaked, as he tried to sit up again. Strong hands carefully settled him back down.

“Lay still, Constable. Help is coming.”

“Did we get them? Preston and Montgomery?”

“Yes, Doyle. We’ve got them.”

With a feeble smile and a whispered _‘that’s all right then’_ he slipped into welcome darkness.

 

An antiseptic smell, scratchy sheets over sensitive skin and the steady beeping noise in his ears let him know he was waking up in hospital. A dull ache prompted his hand to explore the thick, stiff bandage covering the right side of his face. Further exploration revealed that his mouth was stitched and his ribs were taped. He opened watery eyes. Guy’s Hospital. He remembered waking briefly earlier –or was it yesterday – to a flurry of nurses and doctors checking over every inch of him. He’d been told he’d been unconscious for a week and they had despaired of him waking at all. He apologised for disappointing them and they’d relaxed a bit at his attempted dry humour. His wounds and hurts were explained and he was told he’d be allowed visitors the following day. All he wanted to do was sleep – and so he did.

 

“Ah, DC Doyle, I see you’re finally awake.”

A quiet voice from the other side of his bed had him turning around quickly as if preparing for an attack. He winced as the move pulled at his sore ribs.

“Easy, son. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Doyle relaxed back into the bed as best he could and looked at his visitor. “Inspector Gently. I’m guessing you want my report?”

“Yes. If you’re up to it, I do have a few questions for you.”

Doyle studied the older man.

“Did you get them? Preston and Montgomery?”

“Yes.” Gently confirmed with a brief smile. “They are in custody, along with many of their cohorts. And due to your help we’ll be able to lock them up for a good long time.”

With a relieved sigh, Doyle settled deeper into the bed. “What happens now?”

“There will be a trial. It’s expected there will be a conviction. The evidence is very conclusive.”

“I know what my fate is likely to be,” Doyle shrugged. “Long boring stakeouts, late arriving back-up and tons of paperwork.” He watched to see a matching look of the inevitable form on the Inspector’s face. “What of you, sir?”

“I’m heading north. Retirement is calling after one last case,” Gently smiled, but there was no lessening of the sadness that lived in his eyes. “And I need to leave London’s memories behind.”

The two men sat in silence for several minutes. Gently loosened his tie. “If you don’t mind some advice -”

Doyle tipped his head.

Gently cleared his throat. “I’d ask for a transfer or look into another line of work. Sergeant Richards has already tendered his own resignation.”

Doyle’s jaw tensed. “I’m not suited to anything else. And I’m not going to let them chase me from a job I love – a job that lets me do some good.”

Gently shook his head and laughed.

Doyle looked puzzled. “What’s funny, then?”

“That’s a speech _I_ made myself thirty odd years ago.”

“And you’re still a copper.” Doyle’s lips twitched.

“Not very good at taking my own advice, am I?”

Gently met Doyle’s eyes. “Truthfully Constable, I don’t think you can expect much advancement in your career if you stay with the Yard. But I know some people who would be very interested in a man of your convictions and talents. I’ll put in a good word.” Gently stood up and reached out.

Doyle shook the offered hand. “I’d appreciate that, sir.”

Gently nodded and walked out of the room.

 

The trial was a disappointment. The corruption went higher than either he or Gently had thought and with the pulling of some strings by those in power, only a few coppers paid for their part in it. It was of some small consolation to Doyle that Preston and Montgomery were among those going to jail.

Sitting down next to him on a bench outside the courtroom after the hearing was over Gently put a hand on Doyle’s shoulder. They sat in silence for several minutes. Gently finally spoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, Doyle. You did a fine job. I didn’t take into account just how high up the chain the corruption had taken hold.”

The older man sighed and rubbed his face. “At least we got rid of a few.”

Doyle replied bitterly “It was probably more to do with their exposure having made them useless to the higher-ups in the racket than because of any wrong-doing on their parts.”

Gently concurred. “The good coppers, and there are a few on the force, will continue the fight. They’re not giving up.”

Doyle studied the Inspector and said softly, “But you are?”

It was not meant as an accusation and Doyle was surprised by the honesty in the man’s answer. “My one man mission to clean up the Met has cost me too much. It’s time to retire. I’ll leave the charge to someone younger.”

It sounded like a question.

Doyle remained silent.

 

“DC Doyle?” A hand on his shoulder as he left the Court building turned him around.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” he asked warily.

There was a snort from the dark haired man standing behind the older gentleman and a disbelieving murmured “ _who doesn’t know of George Cowley?_ ”

Doyle looked at him with distaste and turned back to the man who had approached him.

“Inspector Gently and I are acquainted and he suggested that I speak with you.”

Doyle remained silent, a questioning uneasiness on his face.

“I’m George Cowley, Controller of CI5, and I have a proposition for you.”

 

 **Part 2** London 1970s

**Chapter One**

George Cowley took a seat in front of the Minister’s desk.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, George. I’m hearing talk of a new task force being set up to once again look into corruption in the Met.”

“Yes. This time the goal is to weed out those at the top.”

“And CI5 has been asked to get involved?” The minister’s fingers tapped on his desk.

“There is a rumour that the IRA is involved, bringing it under CI5’s purview.”

“And you will be running the show?”

“No. The Yard has asked Chief Inspector George Gently to take the lead.”

“Detective Chief Inspector Gently – I thought he had recently retired.” The Minister frowned.

“He had.” Cowley said. “The Met's new Special Investigations Squad boss, Lister, brought him in to investigate high levels of corruption within the force.”

“An old-time copper, is Gently.”

“A good policeman – not one for politics and he’s not afraid to rock the boat. An interesting choice.”

“Oh, come on George. He’s a curmudgeon - moody, straight-laced and self-important.”

“With good reasons to be as such.”

“Maybe. He has ties to one of your own I believe?”

“Doyle. Gently was part of the case where Doyle was injured.” Cowley tapped his own right cheek.

“Ah, that‘s right. And Doyle is willing to take up this crusade again – against police corruption?”

“He’s never left the ‘crusade’ as you call it. Preston and his gang of crooked officers saw to that.”

The Minister, suddenly uncomfortable, cleared his throat. “This isn’t about revenge, is it, George?”

“Absolutely not!” Cowley rose and collected his coat. “Doyle is a much better man than that.”

“It’s not Doyle I’m worried about. Keep me informed,” the minister called out as the door closed.

 

**Chapter Two**

Detective Chief Inspector George Gently closed the file on his desk and took a deep drag from the cigarette poised between his fingers. He exhaled rings of smoke into the soft pool of light provided by the old-fashioned banker’s lamp on his desk. The illumination didn’t reach the dark corners of the office. A darkness to match the one in his eyes.

Detective Inspector Bacchus, sitting across from him, noted the deep lines of concentration on the seamed face.

“So why are you taking this on, guv? Thought you were ready to retire and enjoy the good-life.”

Gently took another pull from the fag and then stabbed it out in the ashtray. “I’ve dedicated my life to police work, John. I’ve been a good and honest copper. My principles have brought me, at various times, accolades and at other times scorn from fellow police officers who feared me – hated me - because I opened the public’s eye to the corruption running rampant through the department.” He paused and ran a finger around the portrait of his wife that had sat on his desk for as long as Bacchus had known him. Probably longer.

Bacchus raised an eyebrow. Gently straightened in his chair and leaned forward with a glare. Bacchus flinched backward in his seat.

“The cost was high and my one man campaign barely made a dent.” Gently pointed at Bacchus, his finger stabbed the air in front of him to emphasise each word. “This opportunity – this task force – may have a better chance at making a lasting impact.” Gently’s eyes challenged Bacchus. “That’s why.”

**Chapter Three**

“What’re we doin’ here, Bodie. We’re supposed to be on a week’s leave. Barely four hours into it and the bloody old man calls us in.”

“Ours is not to reason why, Raymond.”

Doyle groaned at the faked posh accent and shoved his partner as the two men walked down the corridor to their boss’ office.

Arriving at Cowley’s secretary’s desk, Betty waved, without looking up from her paper work, for them to go straight in.

Bodie bowed low and swept his arm out, ushering the still complaining Doyle into the room ahead of him.

“This better be import-” Doyle stopped in the doorway. Bodie, turning away to give Betty a smirk and a wink, stumbled into him.

“What the hell, Doyle?” he protested and grabbed at Doyle to steady himself.

Doyle tensed.

“Ray?” Bodie tightened his grip on Doyle’s shoulder.

Doyle shook him off and stepped forward with his hand held out.

“Inspector Gently?”

“DC Doyle.” The fondly remembered deep baritone filled the room.

Doyle faced the man, eyes sparkling. “Inspector Gently – rather I should say Detective Chief Inspector.”

Gently ignored the offered hand and pulled Doyle into a brief embrace.

“CI5, eh? Gone up in the world, have you?” Gently teased as he released Doyle.

“That’s what they tell me, sir.” From behind him, he heard Bodie clear his throat.

“Oh, yeah. Inspector Gently, this is Bodie. My partner.” He turned to Bodie and nodded towards Gently. “One good copper, mate.”

Bodie shook Gently’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” There was no warmth in the greeting.

Cowley rose from behind his desk. “Bodie, I will speak to you later. Murphy has your next assignment.”

“Yes, sir.” Bodie left the office without a word.

Cowley briskly signalled the remaining two men to be seated.

“Doyle, Chief Inspector Gently has come to request our help.”

Doyle cut in, “The last time he asked me for help I spent a month in hospital.” He took the sting from the words with a crooked grin.

“Be that as it may,” Cowley said with all seriousness, “The Inspector is heading up the new task force assigned to deal with police corruption. The Met’s Special Investigations Squad has assigned CI5 a role. As such, you will be seconded back to the Met to assist as you can.”

Gently interrupted, “You being willing, of course.” He shot an irritated look at Cowley.

“Of course, sir. I’d be happy to help-”

“Let me explain what will be expected of you before you agree.” Doyle sensed displeasure in Cowley’s words.

He nodded for the Controller to continue.

“An opportunity has presented itself which provides a benefit to both CI5 and Inspector Gently’s task force. A connection between a group of officers and an arm of the IRA has been uncovered.”

Questions filling his head, Doyle started to rise from his seat.

Cowley waved him back down into his chair. “The who and the how this was uncovered are not important at this moment 4.5, the connection exists. Drugs for money for guns. The chain runs from a small cadre of police officers to the IRA. The man in the middle is one Daniel O’Shaunnesy.”

Cowley smiled grimly as the significance of that name registered on Doyle’s face.

“So that’s why I was chosen.”

“Very good, Doyle.” Cowley’s sarcasm was a tell; Doyle knew he wasn’t happy. “That and your previous experience with DCI Gently.”

“And,” Gently shot a look at Cowley and interrupted, “the fact that you’re a good investigator, a man I can trust.”

Doyle could sense the tension between the two men. Cowley didn’t like sharing his men or having outside agencies interfere in his operations.

Cowley cleared his throat. “When we last saw Mr O’Shaunnesy, you were arrested with the rest of his men - after you had helped him escape capture. Your cover in that operation has been scrupulously maintained from all sides. The ploy to set him free and discreetly follow his movements is finally paying off. You will now, after having spent a year in prison, attempt to rejoin his gang. We’ve arranged to have your cover story verified if he should ask any questions about your time in jail. You will report your findings to both Inspector Gently and myself. Any questions?”

“Only one,” Doyle ran a hand through his hair. “The officers involved. Would they know me?”

Gently answered. “That is always a possibility. But the men we suspect would have no reason to have come into contact with you during your time on the force. Most are more recent recruits. As far as we’ve been able to determine, O’Shaunnesy doesn’t meet with the officers in person, so there should be no reason for you to meet with them either.”

“That’s very reassuring.” Doyle knew his scepticism was not lost on either man.

Gently rose from his chair. “There is a meeting at my office in Whitehall tomorrow at 9. I’ll expect to see you there, Doyle.” He put on his coat. “Gentlemen.” He left the room.

Doyle let out a deep breath.

“Indeed.” Cowley concurred. “A problem, Doyle?”

“Only one.”

Cowley raised an eyebrow.

“Bodie is not going to like this.”

 

**Chapter Four**

”Hello sunshine, where you been hiding, eh?”

Doyle smiled at the sight of Bodie stirring a pot on the cooker in Doyle’s own kitchen. It seemed the man’s mood had improved since he had been dismissed from Cowley’s office.

Handing Bodie the bottle of wine he'd stopped to purchase, Doyle removed his leather jacket.

“Smells good,” Doyle took in a deep breath. “Don’t tell me you cooked?”

“Invited you for a meal, didn’t I? You think I’d serve his lordship common, everyday take-away? You wound me!”

Doyle laughed as he pulled the Marks and Spencer bag out of the trash bin. “Just as I suspected.”

“We’ll make a detective of you yet,” Bodie joked.

Doyle re-binned the evidence, chuckling. “I’d be happy to eat anything right now. What a day!”

Bodie brought two heaping plates to the table. “Get your laughing gear around that, then.” Bodie poured Doyle a glass of wine and one for himself. They settled themselves in to eat.

“What did Cowley want with you, mate?”

Doyle took a sip of the wine. “Good plonk – if I do say so meself.” He cleared his throat and looked Bodie in the eye. “You’re not going to like it.”

Bodie raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“Cowley is seconding me to a new Police Corruption Task Force. He didn’t seem at all happy with the arrangement.”

Doyle shrugged. “I’m to go undercover to gather intel on a growing concern that there are Met officers on the take-”

“Big surprise there!” Bodie said dismissively.

“C’mon, Bodie. This is a chance to do some good. You know how I feel about bent coppers.”

“I know what it did to you last time you tried to bring them down.” Bodie traced Doyle’s broken cheek with his thumb. “I know how Preston played with you when he got out, and how much it hurt you – not to mention how you almost got yourself and Brownie killed.” Bodie reached out and lifted Doyle’s down-bent head with his finger. Very softly he asked, “Why get involved in it all again?”

“I can do some good, Bodie.”

“Is that really what this is all about?”

“What’re you on about, eh, Bodie?”

“This job – are you sure it isn’t about getting some of your own back, _Detective Constable?”_

“You think this is about revenge? I’m going to ignore you even thought to ask, you prick.” Doyle pushed abruptly away from the table, knocking his chair over. He stood and faced Bodie with his fists clenched.

“All right.” Bodie held his hands up, palms out to stop the inevitable fight. “All right. ‘m sorry.”

Doyle relaxed slightly. “The Chief Inspector in charge – he’s a good man. He wouldn’t be doing this for revenge.”

“Your one good copper?” Bodie spoke scornfully.

“Yeah.” Doyle felt himself tense again at Bodie’s words and closed off expression.

“Where was he last time – when you were nearly killed?” Bodie shook his head. “Y’know, mate, there’s only so many times Humpty-Dumpty can be put back together – despite how much all the king’s horses and all the king’s men may want him whole again.”

“So you won’t back me on this.” Doyle’s voice was flat. It wasn’t a question.

Bodie stood and glanced at his unfinished meal. He turned away, shaking his head, as he walked to the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Doyle.”

“Bodie.”

The door closed.

 

**Chapter Five**

The following morning Bodie found himself driving Cowley from Whitehall to HQ after the meeting with the Task Force. He was restless and he knew his irritation showed.

Cowley finally broke the silence. “Something bothering you this morning, 3.7?”

“No, sir.”

“So I take it you have no issues with Doyle’s new assignment?”

“He seems happy enough with it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Well, out with it, man. What’s your problem?”

“I don’t like the set up.”

“You don’t like Doyle going in alone.”

“That’s part of it.”

“And?”

“It feels like Gently is in it for revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Yeah. Y’know – for his wife and all.”

“Chief Inspector Gently is not one to be motivated by personal considerations. He is a firm believer in the law.”

Bodie snorted, unconvinced.

“Much like your own partner.”

“I agree, but somehow I’m not left feeling any better – two idealists running straight into trouble.”

“I would hardly call Gently an idealist.”

“Okay, I’ll admit it. I don’t like Doyle going in on his own - with only strangers to back him up.”

“I have no intention of leaving 4.5 on his own.”

Bodie turned towards Cowley, surprised.

“No one is going to hang one of my lads out to dry. Let’s get back to Headquarters, 3.7. I have some calls to make.”

 

**Chapter Six**

Bodie rang the bell to Doyle’s flat rather than using his key to let himself in. He wasn’t sure how welcome he’d be after walking out on Ray the previous evening. He did understand why Ray wanted this case, and why it was so important to him, but he also worried about Doyle. Oh, he was good at undercover and normally Bodie wouldn’t protest - well, not too much. But this case was different. Ray was too personally involved. Old ghosts would be resurrected, old wounds reopened. And Bodie would be left to pick up the pieces; if there were any left to pick up. He knew Ray was looking forward to the assignment, so he decided it best to accept the fact and do what he could to protect the stubborn sod.

Doyle opened the door. “Oh, it’s you.” He left the door open and walked back into his bedroom.

Bodie rolled his eyes. Ray was not going to make this easy.

In the bedroom Doyle was throwing pants, socks, jeans and t-shirts into a battered holdall. He watched Bodie defiantly as he shoved his shaving gear into the open bag.

“So you’re going through with it then?” Bodie tried hard not to make it an accusation.

“As you can see,” Doyle replied.

“I don’t like this, Ray. It feels like a set-up.”

“And who would be setting me up, mate? Cowley? Gently? Don’t be a moron.”

Bodie looked down at his shoes. “How well do you know this Gently bloke?”

“Well enough.”

“Enough to trust your life to him? How do you know he’s not in on this – one of the upper echelon of the bent coppers?”

Anger coloured Doyle’s cheeks red. “And what would be his purpose in investigating his own then? Seems a bit silly to me.”

“Don’t be stupid, Ray. Who better to control the investigation than a man deeply involved in the crime.”

“I don’t believe this.” Doyle pinched the bridge of his nose and turned his face up to the ceiling. “Gently is a straight arrow, Bodie.” He lowered his head and met doubtful blue eyes. “He’s strictly by the book. The law is the law. He’s been fighting corruption for years. Story is he lost his wife because he wouldn’t quit digging to root out the double-dealing.”

“It cost him his wife, eh?” Bodie shook his head. “And what are you willing to lose?”

“Bodie.” There was warning in the word.

“Why do you trust him so blindly?”

“Worked with him before.”

“And earned yourself this.” Bodie’s finger traced Doyle’s uneven cheekbone.

“Not his fault.”

“Then whose? He got you involved in the case, made you a target. And now you’re going to let him do it again.”

“Shut it, Bodie,” Doyle shouted angrily. “I’m sick of your pigheaded belief that there are no good policemen.”

“Why, Ray?” Bodie stepped forward and poked a stiff finger in Doyle’s chest. “Explain to me why you have to be the one to do this? After all you’ve been through because of the police force you must see that this is a battle that can’t be won.”

“So I should give up? Is that what you want?” Doyle pushed Bodie’s hand aside and then shoved Bodie back. “I should scarper off and let the thugs in the force have their way? I thought you knew me better than that, mate.” 

Doyle sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. He looked at Bodie and said quietly, “I can’t do that. Can’t pretend it isn’t happening.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again, Ray.”

“So now you’re telling me I can’t handle this. Well thanks a lot, partner, but I’m a big grown up CI5 agent. I don’t need your permission or your help to do my job. So you can drop the mother hen routine. I trust Gently to-”

A car horn sounded from the street. Doyle threw the last of his gear into his bag as he mumbled a few more aspersions on Bodie’s character. Looking everywhere but at Bodie he said, “I’ve got to go. Lock up when you leave.”

Bodie stared at the closed door. “Damn you, Raymond Doyle.”

 

**Chapter Seven**

Doyle removed his sunglasses as he entered the pub. The Archer’s Arms was the current meeting place for O’Shaunnesy’s gang – at least according to the men who had been assigned surveillance by Cowley. He walked up to the bar and ordered a New Castle Brown, declining the glass. He’d seen O’Shaunnesy sitting at a table in the back but decided to wait for his target to come to him. It took two ales.

“Duncan!” O’Shaunnesy clapped him on the back, causing him to spill a bit of his drink. Smirking, O’Shaunnesy asked, “What are you doing here?”

“‘s dry in the nick. Needed a bit of drink.” He saluted O’Shaunnesy with the bottle and then drained it.

“Patrick spread the word that you were out.”

Doyle, in character, laughed. “Never thought he’d have anything good to say about me.”

“Didn’t say it was a good word, now did I?” O’Shaunnesy signalled the barman for another round. “So again, what brings you ‘round here?”

“Lookin’ for work. A man’s gotta eat.”

Doyle lit a cigarette. O‘Shaunnesy studied him for a minute.

“Why’d you help me get away when CI5 closed in? Never expected that.”

“Had a debt to pay didn’t I? Kept Patrick from removin’ some of my best bits, you did.” O’Shaunnesy laughed with him this time.

“Teach you not poach a madman’s lady.”

Doyle feigned an innocent expression. “Who am I to tell a lady no?”

O’Shaunnesy bought a bag of crisps to share and they ate in silence for a few minutes. “Speaking of debts, I have something going you might find interesting.”

“Oh yes?”

“I’m short a driver.”

Doyle crushed out the fag. “And?”

“Fancy a scenic drive through Northern Ireland?”

“Might do.”

“How do I get hold of you?”

“A bedsit in Limehouse.” Doyle reached across the bar, grabbed a book of matches and wrote his number on the inside of the cover. “I split the rent with a friend,” he added, in case he was watched and Bodie was seen there.

“It’ll be about a week to get things organised. I’ll be in touch. Check with the barman here if you don’t hear from me by the end of next week.” O’Shaunnesy clapped him on the shoulder and went back to his own table.

**Chapter Eight**

“I won’t have my men put at risk, Inspector. Not when there are options.”

Bodie stopped in his tracks at the sound of Cowley’s angry voice coming through the Controller’s office door. He looked at Betty sitting behind her desk.

“He still wants to see me?” he asked cautiously.

“You’re to go in as soon as you arrive.” She shrugged."

He hesitated.

“That means now, 3.7.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted as he opened the door. His smile died upon entering. Cowley and Inspector Gently were glaring at each other across Cowley’s desk.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, Bodie. The Inspector and I were discussing your role in the O’Shaunnesy op.”

Gently stood up. “And I was telling Mr Cowley your help wasn’t required.”

“Doyle is my partner. It’s my job to watch his back.”

“He is currently seconded to me. That makes it _my_ job to ensure his safety.”

“And a fine job you made of it the last time he worked for you.”

Gently turned to Cowley. “I find it difficult to believe, that as a military man, you tolerate such insubordination in your men.”

“When it is justified, I encourage it.”

Bodie couldn’t meet Cowley’s eyes.

Gently rolled his. “Spare me the James Bond nonsense. Doyle has been accepted into O’Shaunnesy’s gang, his undercover role is solid and things in every part of the investigation are moving forward as planned.”

The phone on Cowley’s desk rang. “The Minister is on the line, sir. He says he must speak with you.”

“Och.” Cowley looked at Bodie. “Take the Inspector to the lounge, 3.7, while I take this call.”

Bodie led Gently to the empty rest room. “Tea, sir?”

Gently declined. “I understand your reluctance to see your partner put in danger.”

Bodie tensed. “You understand nothing.”

“I’ve read both your files. Your opposition to his participation is due to more than your working relationship, yes?”

Bodie read the implication in the cold, narrowed eyes.

“You bastard.” Bodie pushed Gently up against the wall. “Is that how you got Ray to agree to this? Did you threaten to expose him – or better yet, expose me? You blackmailing son-”

Bodie doubled up around the fist as the blow knocked the wind from him. Then it was his turn to be held against the wall, a bruise forming on his jaw and an arm across his throat.

Gently growled, “That would make me no better than the scum we’re after, wouldn’t it? Do you really think your partner would work for a man who would use blackmail to get what he wanted?” He bounced Bodie off the wall one more time and released him.

Straightening his jacket, Bodie looked down at his shoes. “You _are_ Doyle’s one-good-copper.” It was accepted as the only apology each man knew would be offered. They straightened their clothes.

Gently’s eyes lit up a bit. “He remembered that, did he?”

“Yes, and he reminds me of it all the time.”

They stood silently for several uncomfortable moments. Gently spoke quietly. “Your partner is quite capable of looking after himself, you know.”

Bodie sighed. “Not when it comes to bent coppers.”

“You may well be right,” Gently conceded. “But I have good men on this case. Men I’d trust with my own life.”

Bodie shook his head, unconvinced.

Gently studied Bodie for a moment. “I will personally inform Mr Cowley when it looks like the exchange between O’Shaunnesy and the police is about to take place. If CI5’s help is needed, I will ask for it. I’m not a martyr and I have no intention of making Doyle one. Now, are you satisfied I have no ulterior motive for involving Doyle in this case? Have I convinced you I intend no harm to him or to you?”

“Yes.” Bodie rubbed at the back of his neck and begrudgingly added a terse, “Thank you.”

Gently checked his watch. “Tell your Mr Cowley that I, too, have work to do. He can call me if he has anything further to discuss.”

Bodie whistled with respect as Gently walked out. Not many men had the balls to walk out on George Cowley. _‘Must be something about the name George,’_ he mused to himself.

 

**Chapter Nine**

Doyle returned to London after two weeks of driving O’Shaunnesy around Ireland and reported in to Gently. When he entered the Chief Inspector’s office, he found both Cowley and Bodie there.

“Doyle. Welcome back.” Gently gestured for him to take a seat. “How did things go?”

“Fine. The cover is holding. We spent the last week checking with various groups and collecting orders for the weapons and O’Shaunnesy didn’t keep me out of things.”

“Good. Good.” Gently nodded. “Do we know yet where the exchange is to take place?”

“No. O’Shaunnesy hasn’t told anyone the location. He’s left London early this morning and told everyone to lay low for a few days. He’d be in touch when everything was set up. I’m to check for messages at the Archer’s Arms.”

“And this O’Shaunnesy is letting you wander around London while he’s gone,” Bodie commented with suspicion. “I don’t like it.”

“We are all aware of your thoughts on the operation, Bodie,” Cowley dismissed the comment. “You’re sure they aren’t on to you, 4.5.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bodie turned to Doyle. “You sure you weren’t followed here?”

Doyle’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Bodie, but he didn’t say a word.

“Anything else, Doyle?” Gently rose from his chair, signalling the end of the meeting.

“No, sir.” Doyle rose as well. “I’ll be in touch as soon as the meet is set.”

  
[ ](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/merentha13/21454005/182747/182747_original.jpg)

 

**Chapter Ten**

After the quick and uncomfortable meeting with Gently and Cowley, the two agents drove in silence from HQ to Doyle’s undercover flat. Taking surreptitious glances at his partner’s still form in the passenger seat, Bodie let his anger go. Ray was safe, so far, and they were going to have a night together; although he’d rather they could be home.

As always happened, there was no close parking, so they exited the car and walked the two blocks to Doyle’s Limehouse flat. Bodie studied his quiet partner as they walked.

‘Home.’ Bodie had mulled over its meaning earlier when he had loaded food into the cupboards and aired out the dingy flat. When Cowley had told him Doyle was due back from Ireland this evening he gave in to an unexpected impulse toward domesticity. He’d laughed at himself as he put fresh sheets on the bed. _‘When did you become an optimist,’_ he’d chided himself, remembering their last evening in Ray’s CI5 flat.

Doyle had been quite angry with his – how did he phrase it – pigheaded, bloody minded, moronic, inflexible bastard of a partner. Oh, and dumb crud, as well – couldn’t forget that – mumbled, loudly, as Doyle had stomped out of the flat and into the car waiting to whisk him off to Whitehall. Bodie couldn’t smile then – but he did now.

“And what’s amusing you, mate?” Doyle asked, his hand brushing lightly against Bodie’s as they walked.

It seemed all was to be forgiven.

“Only thinking about your sweet and sensitive words on our last parting.” Bodie wished he could see the colour he knew was rising in Doyle’s face.

“Yes, well, sorry. I was a bit angry.”

“Do tell.” Bodie bumped his shoulder. “I’m sorry, too. I know how much an opportunity like this one means to you. I should’ve been more supportive.” Bodie ruffled the wild curls. “So, how did it go?”

“We’ll find out when it all goes down. Should only be another day or two.”

When they got to the flat, Bodie took out the key Ray had given him and started to unlock the door. Doyle’s hand over his stopped the action.

“I’ve missed you.” Doyle said, plainly.

“Missed you more,” Bodie challenged.

Doyle grinned. “Let’s find out who’s right, shall we?” The door swung shut behind them.

  


 

The irritating ringing of a telephone intruded on Bodie’s sleep. He nudged the warm shoulder pressed tightly against his own.

“Doyle.”

“Hmmm.” An arm reached out and pulled him closer; he snuggled under the warm weight. The phone kept ringing, joined now by the squawk of an R/T.

“Doyle!” He poked at the arm banding his chest. “Phone.”

“So answer it,” came the sleepy suggestion.

“It’s your phone. I shouldn’t be here at three-dark-o-thirty in the morning answering Ray Duncan’s calls.” Bodie poked at him again.

Doyle reached across Bodie for the phone, licking a peaked nipple as he picked up the handset. “Duncan.” He held the phone away from his ear, so they could both hear the caller.

“I’m calling as ordered by Inspector Gently. The deal is going down in a couple of hours. Get yourself in place.” Before Doyle could say a word, the call was disconnected and Bodie’s R/T was still signalling.

Doyle sat staring at his phone, his brow furrowed.

“3.7.” Bodie rolled his eyes at Doyle as he answered the R/T's call.

“Control with a message from Cowley. Grade Seven call-out. Gently received information from his man inside the Met that the exchange is happening today.”

“Bloody hell,” Doyle cursed quietly.

“Problems?” Bodie mouthed, already knowing the answer by Doyle’s expression.

“A call out?” Doyle whispered in surprise as he listened to the voice at the other end of the R/T. “That must mean they’re getting ready to bust O’Shaunnesy.”

“And the problem is?”

“O’Shaunnesy didn’t contact me to let me know there had been a change in plans.” Bodie saw a brief wave of apprehension shiver through his partner, quickly gone, as Doyle pushed wandering hands away.

“Did you get that, 3.7,” an impatient voice demanded over the R/T. “Cowley wants you here in 30 minutes.”

“Roger that, control.” Bodie said into the R/T phone as he rubbed a hand over Doyle’s bum.

Doyle snorted and Bodie’s lips twitched as he turned off the R/T.

Doyle rolled on top of his bed-mate and started tickling him. “Roger that?” Doyle mimicked. “Think you can roger me?” Doyle cocked a lascivious eyebrow and Bodie felt himself blush as Doyle’s hands explored his nakedness.

Bodie tumbled Doyle over and covered the warm body stretched out beneath him. He ground their hips together.

“Doesn’t appear to be any life left in the old boy,” Doyle teased.

“Why you!” Bodie rolled them over and began an assault on Doyle’s ribs.

A dark chuckle and a surprised squeak were lost in the rustling of tangled sheets.

**Chapter Eleven**

Cowley glared as Bodie entered the briefing room.

“Nice of you to join us, Bodie.”

“Sorry, sir.” Bodie replied.

“Hmmpf,” Cowley dismissed the apology with an angry wave of his hand.

Cowley looked out over the rest of his men and continued the interrupted brief. “As I was saying”, he shot another look at his late arriving agent, “We have very reliable information indicating Daniel O’Shaunnesy and his gang are on the move today. They’re collecting a large arms cache at a warehouse in St. Katherine’s Dock near Wapping this afternoon. We stand a very good chance of taking O’Shaunnesy himself. Information on the job and the area is in the files on the back table. Make yourself familiar with the location and then collect weapons from the armoury. We will leave for the docks at 14:00 hours.”

Agents started to gather files and leave the room. “Bodie, I’ll need you to stay behind.” Bodie followed Cowley to his office.

“I’m assuming your partner was called in by Gently?”

“Yes, Doyle was called in by the task force. He was surprised by the call. O’Shaunnesy hadn’t contacted him about a change in the plans.”

“Doyle doesn’t think his cover’s been blown?”

Bodie shook his head. “He wasn’t sure.”

“Well, there’s no help for it now.” Cowley looked at Bodie. “If Doyle’s cover has been compromised, he’ll have some back-up. I’ve arranged for you to be closer to the action this afternoon.” He indicated that Bodie should sit down.

“Sir?” Bodie accepted the glass of scotch that Cowley handed him.

Cowley sat behind his desk and opened a folder. “As of now, you’ve been seconded back to the SAS.”

Bodie jumped up from his chair. “But I thought...You just said -”

“Sit. Down. 3.7.”

Bodie sat.

“I’ve been in touch with Major Nairn. He’s been working on the gun side of this job. It seems he has infiltrated the group delivering the weapons to one Daniel O’Shaunnesy. Nairn happens to be in need of an additional man. You meet his requirements.” Cowley removed his glasses and looked at Bodie.

“How -”

“As unlikely as it seems, it is a coincidence that Major Nairn’s and Chief Inspector Gently’s operations are linked. Nairn’s intelligence operatives caught onto the Task Force’s plans for O’Shaunnesy and offered their assistance. Apparently Gently mentioned CI5’s involvement. I’ve convinced Nairn to add you to his team.”

“Does Gently know?” Bodie eyes narrowed as he studied his boss.

“No.” Cowley sighed. Bodie recognised it as annoyance. “I’ll deal with the Chief Inspector.”

“But I thought -”

“Thought what, Bodie?”

“Erm, nothing, sir. When do I leave?” Bodie was out of his chair again.

There’s a man waiting downstairs for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Bodie reached for the door. “And thank you, sir.”

“He won’t thank you, Bodie,” Cowley said quietly. “Doyle.”

“No, Doyle won’t like this at all.” Bodie opened the door, letting go the memory of the return-to-normal that he and Doyle had shared earlier that morning.

Cowley stopped him again. “Remember, 3.7, the object of the mission is to take down O’Shaunnesy and keep those guns from leaving London. If we can expose the police officers involved, all the better. And,” Cowley warned, “I want as many of those men as possible captured alive. Dismissed.”

**Chapter Twelve**

Shrugging into his jacket while locking the door to his flat, Doyle tried to disregard the unease stealing down his back. Maybe it hadn’t been the smartest move to have taken the time for a last tumble with Bodie. He should have checked in at the “Archer’s Arms” yesterday to see if there was a message from O’Shaunnesy. But he’d let the meeting with Gently and Cowley, and the thawing of Bodie’s attitude last night distract him. Had he blown his cover? If so, he’d failed both Inspector Gently and George Cowley. Somehow, though, he’d make it right. O’Shaunnesy was going down today.

With the gun sale taking place this afternoon, Doyle hurried to the pub to see if O’Shaunnesy had indeed left him a message. Maybe explaining he hadn’t been able to get to the “Archer’s Arms” before this morning to receive the message might excuse his late arrival – providing O’Shaunnesy didn’t ask too many questions.

Entering the warehouse quickly Doyle headed straight for O’Shaunnesy, ignoring the group of men having a heated discussion in the office next to the entrance.

“Duncan.”

“What the fuck is going on, Dan? Why wasn’t I told about this sooner?”

“Change came up suddenly. There wasn’t time to _personally_ notify everyone.” O’Shaunnesy looked at him with irritation. “I left a message with…”

Shattering glass and running footsteps had them both heading towards the warehouse door, the conversation forgotten. They stopped suddenly, surprised, as three kids ran away from the building. O’Shaunnesy signalled for one of the men to go after them, but Doyle put out his arm to stop him.

“They’re just kids. Street rats. Used to play in old abandoned buildings meself when I was their age. Let ‘em go.”

O’Shaunnesy shrugged and his lips twitched. “A street rat, eh? ‘m not surprised, Duncan.” He pushed the man he knew as Duncan back inside and said “We’ve work to do.”

The rumble of a lorry engine alerted them the delivery had arrived.

“They’re early,” Doyle noted.

“Doesn’t matter. We’re ready.” O’Shaunnesy whistled and the rest of his gang gathered at the warehouse loading dock.

The truck backed in slowly. The rear door opened and two men dressed in fatigues jumped out. Doyle closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he recognised Bodie. Before Doyle could react, Bodie turned to O’Shaunnesy who was standing at the front of the truck.

“Where’d you want these stacked, mate?” he asked. He picked up a box and pushed it into Doyle’s arms.

Checking that no one was close enough to hear, eyes spitting fire, Doyle demanded in a harsh whisper, “What the fuck are you doin ‘ere?”

“Watching your back, sunshine. We’re partners,” Bodie snapped back. “Remember?”

“Oh yes? Didn’t seem to want to be me partner when all this started.” He glared at Bodie, all the earlier amity forgotten. “And why wasn’t I told about this?” He gestured to the truck and Bodie’s fatigues.

“Need to know, mate.” Bodie tapped the side of his nose.

“So Cowley didn’t think I could handle this on my own.”

“Don’t be a fool.”

O’Shaunnesy eyed the two of them and called out, “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

“None whatsoever,” Bodie replied. Doyle knew the words were meant for him.

  


Doyle shook his head abruptly and walked away carrying the crate. He took notice of O’Shaunnesy heading towards the group of men he’d noted earlier by the warehouse office. As the men greeted each other Doyle caught a glimpse of a very familiar face. Ex- Detective Inspector Montgomery. He’d been told the man had been released on a technicality soon after his arrest. More likely someone had pulled some strings. Everyone had assumed he’d left London. The chance for another score must have overridden common sense. Doyle knew he couldn’t let himself be seen. Too much work had gone into this case to ruin it now. He started to move behind the lorry to put some distance between himself and O’Shaunnesy’s group when a child’s scream pierced the sounds of the men moving carefully through the warehouse. Doyle snapped his head around and saw O’Shaunnesy’s man Patrick come out from behind a row of shelving carrying a young girl under his arm.

“Look what I’ve found.” Patrick laughed as the girl cried out and struggled to get free. She looked to be about seven, with long red hair and a tear streaked face. Doyle could feel her fear. She must have been one of the kids from earlier.

He dropped the crate and stalked up to the man. “Let her go, Patrick.” His voice was low and hard.

Patrick sneered at him and tightened his hold, causing the girl to wail louder. Doyle felt all the eyes in the warehouse turn their attention to the two men and the child.

 

Watching from inside the back of the lorry, Bodie could sense that something was wrong. He could read the tension in Doyle’s face and feel the tautness gripping Doyle’s back cramp his own shoulders. Things were about to go pear-shaped. _‘Don’t do anything stupid, mate’_ ; his unspoken words directed at his partner.

Concealing his movement as best he could, he rested his hand on the butt of his gun and slowly climbed out of the truck. He scanned the warehouse, eyes stopping on the group by O’Shaunnesy. Trouble would come from there he decided and started to move between the group and Doyle.

As he moved forward he saw one of the men stare at Doyle and then quickly say something to O’Shaunnesy. O’Shaunnesy shook his head, denying whatever he’d been told.

“Bloody hell,” Bodie murmured, “here it comes.” He tightened his grip on his gun.

“Doyle!” The man with O’Shaunnesy called out.

When Ray didn’t react, Bodie suppressed a small smile. _‘He’s too good an undercover man to fall for that, you bastard.’_

The group of men started walking towards Doyle and Patrick.

“His name’s Duncan,” O’Shaunney explained, “He saved my arse, took a prison term for me. There’s no way he’s a copper, Montgomery.”

Bodie cringed when the other man was finally named. Montgomery had been Doyle’s DI back in the Met, one of the men Doyle had helped take down on corruption charges. It seemed leopards didn’t change their spots.

“No. I know a traitor when I see one,” Montgomery spat. “That is Detective Constable Raymond Doyle, as I live and breathe. And he owes me.” Without warning, Montgomery raised his gun and put a bullet in Doyle’s thigh.

Bodie moved forward.

At the sound of the gunshot, Patrick dropped the child and pulled his own gun, pointing it at Bodie. “Don’t move.”

The child stood frozen with fear in the middle of the warehouse. Despite the injury to his leg, Bodie knew it was sheer raw stubbornness that propelled Doyle forward. Before Bodie could move, Doyle had grabbed the girl and turned to run. Bodie watched him stumble and fall. Montgomery was right there and knelt beside the downed man, roughly grabbing Doyle’s hair and pulling his head back to see his face.

Montgomery jeered. “Give it up, Doyle. You’re done.” A quiet sob escaped the child pinned under Doyle’s body.

“Ah, you’re nothing if not tenacious, Doyle. But are your ideals worth it? Worth your life?” Doyle held tighter to the child beneath him.

 

The sound of sirens and squealing tyres followed by gunshots announced CI5’s entrance into the warehouse in full force. Agents jumped from their cars, guns drawn, taking what cover they could. Montgomery fled.

Cowley, from behind the door of his Cortina, shouted through a loudhailer, “CI5, O’Shaunnesy. Drop your weapons.”

O’Shaunnesy’s gang met Cowley’s announcement with a hail of gunfire. Bodie briefly noted the police officers moving to surround the outside of the building; their intent to keep the criminals from escaping. His concern was elsewhere.

With bullets flying, Patrick had ducked behind the lorry leaving Bodie free. Doyle remained prone on the floor, trying to calm the girl pinned beneath him. He glanced up at Bodie and nodded. Bodie could see the pain from the bullet wound painted on Doyle’s face. He had to shake his head in fond amusement when he heard Doyle speaking to the girl, trying to calm her.

“What’s your name, love?”

“Jenny.”

“Well, Jenny –Bodie, here, and I, are going to make sure you get out of here, yeah?”

Patrick reached out from behind the back tyre to grab both Doyle and the girl and drag them closer to the lorry. He pointed his gun at Doyle.

“Move any closer and he gets a bullet in the head,” Patrick warned Bodie. Pressing his gun to the back of Doyle’s head, he tried to pull the girl out from beneath Doyle. Doyle held on. Bodie understood what Patrick wanted – the girl would be a good hostage. But he also knew Doyle would take another bullet before he’d let the girl go. Patrick tried once more to free the girl from Doyle’s grasp. He couldn’t get enough leverage with only one free arm. He raised the gun from Doyle’s head. Bodie took advantage. Patrick was thrown backward by the force of the gunshot. He fell with a neat hole in his forehead. The girl cried out and struggled to get free. Bodie made sure no one else got near.

 

When the harsh bark of the last gunshot faded, silence fell like a dead weight over the warehouse.

“All clear,” Murphy yelled.

Doyle rolled onto his back as Susan came to collect the little girl. Bodie was leaning over him in a protective crouch. With trepidation, Doyle watched as Bodie’s cold eyes surveyed the carnage strewn around the warehouse floor, saw the tense white grip on the Browning in his hand. Bodie stiffened when his eyes fell upon Patrick.

“This ends now. I’m done.” Bodie’s voice was hard, the gun aimed at the still body.

“Bodie.” Doyle grabbed his wrist. “You can’t just shoot him. Cowley-”

“Oh, he’s already dead, sunshine,” Bodie sneered.

Puzzled, and in too much pain to sort things out, Doyle asked, “What ends now? What’s done?”

Bodie’s grip on the High-Power didn’t relax. He waved it back and forth between himself and Doyle. “This. Us. All of it. I’m done with all of it.” Bodie rose and took a step away.

“You bastard. Don’t you run out on me.”

Bodie’s voice cracked. “I can’t do this anymore, Ray. I can’t stay and watch you throw your life away.”

Doyle sucked in a sharp breath as he tried to stand up. He settled for a half sitting position.

“Bodie. You owe me better than this.”

“Owe you?” Bodie turned back to Doyle and laughed bitterly. He bent down and poked Doyle in the chest with a stiff finger. “I just saved your fucking life. Again. If anyone is owed anything, it’s me. But you wouldn’t see it that way would you?”

The words hurt more than the bullet in his leg. His eyes met Bodie’s. ‘Don’t leave me,’ they begged. The anger drained from him.

‘Let me go,’ answered the sad blue gaze.

Bodie moved to withdraw and Doyle grabbed hold of his hand. “The hospital, Bodie. You be at the bloody hospital.”

  


Sirens, flashing lights, loud voices, a child crying and a searing pain in his right leg were finally too much and he lay back down. Faces swam across his closed eyelids: Bodie, Cowley, Murphy, ambulance men, an older man who was somehow familiar, Preston, Maurice, Montgomery, O’Shaunnesy, the little girl - he couldn’t tell which were real and which had been dragged from past nightmares, so he let unconsciousness take him.

 

“What the blazes happened here?” Cowley demanded of his agents as they gathered around the Controller’s car.

“Doyle’s cover was broken. Montgomery recognised him when he walked out into the open.” Murphy answered when it became apparent the Bodie would not.

“Obviously,” Cowley gave Murphy a disdainful look. “And why did he do that?”

Bodie ignored the glare directed at him and spoke to his shoes. “The kid. Doyle took off directly across the floor. The stupid bastard gave me no clue as to what he’d do-”

Cowley released an angry breath. “Yes, the child. Of course. But you had to know he would attempt to save the girl.” Cowley’s pale eyes pinned Bodie to the spot. “And what about you? You broke cover as well-”

“And what was I supposed to do. Watch while they finished him off?”

“The job comes first, Bodie."

Bodie was silent for several seconds and looked away, his eyes following the path of the ambulance taking his partner to hospital. He shrugged and turned back to Cowley. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Montgomery headed for the back of the building,” Cowley tipped his head in that direction. “I want that man. Alive 3.7.”

Bodie glared at him.

“Take Murphy with you.”

The two men carefully picked their way to the back of the warehouse, following the sound of angry voices. 

 

“You’re finally going to get yours, Montgomery.” A bloodied George Gently stood facing an equally bloody Montgomery, gun raised in a shaking hand. Montgomery was unarmed.

Murphy started to move towards them but Bodie held him back. He raised a finger to his lips to signal Murphy to be quiet.

“The incorruptible George Gently is going to take justice into his own hands!” Montgomery mocked. “Are you going to shoot me, George? In cold blood.”

The gun remained aimed at Montgomery’s chest. Gently didn’t say a word.

“C’mon, George. Wouldn’t it feel good to get a bit of vengeance for the dear departed Isabella? You’ve been spending your whole life -”

Gently stepped forward and struck Montgomery across the face with his gun. Montgomery collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs. Gently raised his gun, finger on the trigger.

“Sir.” Bodie stepped out from behind the shelving.

Gently stared at him - eyes filled with pain, not the anger that Bodie expected. The gun didn’t move.

Bodie cleared his throat. Softly, he spoke, “I would kill anyone, without hesitation, who took Ray away from me. Without apology or excuse.”

Looking down at Montgomery, Gently nodded. “Some would call it justice, others would cry vengeance.”

“It is a fine line.” Bodie reached out and lowered Gently’s gun. “For Ray’s sake, I won’t let you fall to the wrong side of it.”

Gently re-holstered his gun with an unsteady hand. “While your concern is understandable, it is not necessary. I have no intention of ruining the rest of my life or my reputation for scum like that.” He scowled at the man on the floor. “If you’ll help me collect him, we can make sure he ends up where he deserves to be.”

“Of course, sir,” Bodie replied curtly, stung by Gently’s tone. He called for Murphy to take Montgomery away. “I apologise for doubting your intent.”

Gently lowered his head and sighed deeply. “No, I’m the one who is sorry. It would have been easy to cross the line.” He raised his head. Bodie felt eyes studying him. “Am I wrong in thinking you have had the opportunity to consider that dilemma as well?”

Bodie said wryly, “It’s tough to fall over that edge with a conscience like Doyle’s holding you back, but yes, in the past I have found myself on the wrong side of the line.” He shook his head. “It is not worth the cost.”

“A good man, your partner.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you’ll walk away from him?”

Bodie winced. He hadn’t realised his earlier outburst had been heard by more than Doyle. “It’s another narrow line, that – between love and hate.”

“Running from a problem never solves it.”

“I know. But right now I need some distance.”

The two men were silent for a short time.

“Mr Bodie,” Gently held out his hand, “Thank you – for, well, everything. Despite my earlier pique, it is appreciated.”

Bodie smiled and shook the offered hand.

 

**Chapter 13**

George Gently, elbows braced on his desk, leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. It had been one hell of a day.

He looked up as a glass was deposited next to his elbow, the smell of malt rose invitingly. “Drink it. It will help.”

“The voice of experience, Bacchus?” Gently rubbed his eyes with his palms and leaned back in his chair. He raised the glass to his companion and finished the malt quickly.

“You’ve much more experience than I have,” Bacchus answered cheekily, tipping his glass as a salute to his boss, “but it definitely softens the edges.”

They enjoyed a second round until the jangling of the phone interrupted their comfortable silence. Bacchus started to pick up the phone but Gently waved him off.

“Gently.”

“Inspector, this is George Cowley, CI5.”

Gently winced.

“Major, I’ve been expecting your call.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“How is your man Doyle?”

A long silence followed. Gently waited.

“The damage to Doyle’s leg from the bullet hasn’t been determined yet. It was very near his knee. He will recover, but will most likely be invalided out.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that. A good man, Doyle.”

“As you’ve had occasion to know in the past.”

“Yes.”

More silence.

“Inspector Gently, I’ll come right to the point. The Minister informed me the last minute call out ordered for CI5 was at your request. You knew O’Shaunnesy’s gang was receiving the arms from the group of corrupt police officers who’d used money from a protection racket to purchase the weapons. It was their intent to resell the arms for a bigger profit. And you knew the group of police officers included a man that Doyle had previously testified against – the man in question being Montgomery.”

“Your information is correct, Mr Cowley.”

“Perhaps you can tell me then, why CI5 wasn’t informed of the involvement of this man in the sale? There is every reason to believe if Doyle hadn’t blown his own cover, he would have been killed today because he was known to the corrupt coppers as a man who had destroyed their like before.”

“Doyle was seconded to my Task Force. The man knew the risks. He’s reminded of them every time he looks in the mirror. He was not forced to join.”

“And you know, very well Doyle would never turn down a chance to fight police corruption. You waved a carrot and he snapped it up – only to find another stick. I won’t have my men used in such a manner. A formal complaint will be filed with the Minister.”

“As you will, Mr Cowley. Just keep in mind Doyle’s involvement did result in the arrests of several upper level police officers and stopped a shipment of weapons. He performed his job and did it well.”

“It’s not Doyle’s performance that I’m questioning. The Minister has set up a meeting for 14:00 tomorrow. We will discuss this further at that time.” Cowley ended the call.

Gently hung up the phone and rested his head against the back of his chair. Bacchus refilled their glasses.

“Is George Cowley as tough as they say?”

“Worse.” Gently tipped his glass to Bacchus. “He’s a stubborn old goat. His way is the only way and don’t try to question his methods or his authority. He --” Gently looked at Bacchus, puzzled. “What?”

Bacchus hid a smile behind his glass. “Sounds like someone else we know, eh?”

“Bah,” Gently finished his drink with a pointed look and then his lips twitched. “Perhaps.”

 

**Chapter Fourteen**

Bodie entered Doyle’s hospital room as the Sister was delivering Doyle’s lunch tray. His anger hadn’t lessened. He wasn’t going to stick around to watch his stubborn git of a partner throw his life away. He still intended to leave CI5, but Doyle’s words, _‘You owe me better than that’,_ wouldn’t leave him alone – after 6 years as partners he did feel he owed Ray something – an explanation at least.

“Oh, who’s this then? Decided to visit your old partner after all, eh, mate?”

He knew Doyle wasn’t going to make it easy. He should have come by days ago. But that had been impossible. He had needed the time to sort things in his own mind before facing his partner. And the delay had only given Doyle’s anger that much more time to fester.

Ignoring the vitriol in the comment, Bodie pulled a chair up next to the bed and said, “The Doctor told me that the leg isn’t as bad as they had originally feared.”

“I’ll never be fit enough for the “A” Squad again.” Doyle’s words were bitter.

“You will walk again. You could be thankful for that.” Bodie knew he’d made a mistake as soon as the words left his lips. Doyle wouldn’t take patronizing from any man.

But Doyle surprised him. Instead of the expected tirade, Doyle turned his head away from Bodie; but not before Bodie saw the sudden wetness on Doyle’s lashes. “So you’re still leavin’?” Doyle’s fingers played idly with the creases in the wrinkled bed sheet. Bodie could hear the unvoiced ‘why’ in the aching silence between them.

“Ray.”

“You’re a bloody coward, Bodie.” A hopelessness seemed to surround Doyle.

“If being a coward means not being able to watch you take all the unnecessary risks you do – if it means not being able to shut out the pain I feel when you’re hurting, if it means feeling I’ve failed you because I can’t protect your back when you shut me out – then yes – I’m guilty of being a coward. We’re too close Doyle and I can’t live with the aftermath of jobs like this one. Running from something is not always cowardice – sometimes it’s a matter of survival.”

“You can justify it anyway you want, Bodie – it’s still running away.”

Bodie looked down at the bed, at Ray’s hands resting, unmoving now, on the sheet. He saw Ray shiver and pulled a blanket gently over him, careful of the bandaged leg.

Doyle sighed, pulling his arms free of the bedding and asked, “Will you at least let me know how you’re getting on? A phonecall or something?”

“I can’t, Ray.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it really matter?”

“No. I guess not.” Doyle wiped an arm across his face. His grip on the blanket tightened, his knuckles white. He started to speak. Bodie saw him swallow hard.

Acting from instinct rather than plan, Bodie reached out and tenderly placed a hand on the back of the head still turned away from him. He could feel the tension in Doyle’s neck. “Ray-”

The gentle touch must have been too much. Bodie felt Doyle’s whole body tense. Doyle‘s temper ignited. He swept his lunch off the tray and onto the floor. The action tore the lines from his arm; blood dripped onto the white sheets. “I don’t need your pity, Bodie.” He finally turned to face Bodie. They watched each other in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. Doyle broke first.

“Well, what’re you still here for?” Doyle’s voice rose. “Go if you’re goin’. Don’t let me keep you.”

The crash of the tray on the floor and Doyle’s harsh shouting alerted Murphy, on guard outside the room, to trouble. He burst through the door, gun drawn. “What the hell?”

“Get a nurse,” Bodie ordered as he reached for Doyle’s arm. He was shoved aside by the doctor who had run into the room right behind Murphy.

Doyle was still yelling curses at him as Bodie backed out the door.

Moving down the hospital corridor, distancing himself from Doyle’s room, he flinched when he heard the water pitcher shatter against the back of the closed door.

 

**Chapter Fifteen**

When he was released from hospital, Murphy drove Doyle to CI5 HQ for a meeting with Cowley and Gently. The men wanted his final report. After an unemotional factual accounting of his actions he waited several minutes in silence and then asked, “So what happens now?” He stood looking out the window, his back to the room.

“The task force will continue – there’s a place for you there, should you want it,” Gently replied.

“No, but thanks. I’m still considering my options. Have to see how this leg heals up.” Doyle turned to face Gently. “What about you?”

“Retirement - after I’ve finished all the paper work and tied up all the loose ends for my successor.” Gently smiled ruefully. “This time I mean it. I’ve done enough tilting at windmills.”

“No windmills, sir. While not truly giants, there was nothing imaginary about those bent coppers and the damage they’d done.”

“Point taken. Thank you, Doyle.”

Doyle checked his watch. “If you both will excuse me, I’ve an appointment with the physio.”

He shook Gently’s hand and nodded at Cowley. “I’ll be in touch, sir.”

“See that you are,” Cowley clapped him on the shoulder and held the door open. “And don’t be too long about it.”

The room was silent for several moments after Doyle left, each man studied the other.

“Inspec -”

“I’m sor-”

Both sets of lips twitched.

Gently spoke again. “It looks like I may have lost you two good men. I apologize for that.”

“I hope the cost turns out to be worth it.”

“You don’t think it was? I thought CI5’s remit was to fight corruption. Roses and lavender and all that.”

Cowley met Gently’s eyes with a glare and then shook his head. “We are on the same side,” he offered.

“Are we?”

“We both want the same thing.”

“The end justifies the means, eh?” Gently tapped on the window. Cowley moved to stand next to him. They both watched as a taxi driver helped Doyle and his crutches into the cab.

“Not always.”

“No. Not always.”

**Chapter Sixteen**

Doyle slammed out of Cowley’s office, drink in hand. Bodie was back. Correction, Doyle gritted his teeth – he’d never left. And for eight months, nobody had thought to tell him. He was Cowley’s bloody Deputy and yet Cowley had kept it from him. He’d been betrayed again - by the one man he still felt he could trust, the one man he’d thought still had his back. What a crock of shit. Turns out he was the naive one yet again. Cowley had told him, lied right to his face, that he had no idea where Bodie was. And Bodie had been working for him all along. 

Eight months. He wondered what kind of deal the two of them had made to keep Doyle in the dark. He leaned against the window on the landing above the staircase and looked with puzzlement at the glass in his hand. He didn’t remember picking it up when he’d stormed out of Cowley’s office. Must have picked it up instead of his cane. He shrugged and took a drink – no point in wasting it.

“Doyle!” Bodie came out of Cowley’s office bellowing. Startled, the drink fell from Doyle’s hand and splashed on the floor at his feet. He started to turn towards his ex-partner and slipped on the spilled single malt, landing hard on his bad knee. The pain was unbearable. Bodie moved in to help him up but Doyle brushed him off. 

“Back off, Bodie.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help.” He tried to get up but lost his footing again. “I don’t need your help.” Anger and frustration coloured his face as he tried, unsuccessfully, to rise again. The slippery puddle of scotch kept him from getting enough support from his good leg to let him stand.

“Christ sake, Doyle!” Bodie bent over and picked up the flailing man, holding him in his arms.

Another office door opened along the hallway and Anson stepped out. “Oh,” he feigned surprise, “The love birds have reconciled!”

Two sets of glaring eyes turned towards him. He shrugged sheepishly and walked off whistling “All you Need is Love.” The two turned their glares at each other, Doyle still held in Bodies arms like a bride being carried over the threshold. The silence was deafening. Then the corner Bodie’s mouth twitched. Doyle snorted and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Put me down, Butch.”

Bodie complied.

“We need to talk, Ray.” The moment of light amusement was gone.

Ray limped towards an empty office and Bodie followed. “Well, what’s so earth shattering? After months of silence I didn’t think there was anything to say,” Doyle challenged.

“Ray. We - well - I need to explain.”

“Fuck, Bodie. What do you want from me? You want forgiveness? You could’ve had that ages ago if you hadn’t run off.” Doyle paused, a bitter smile crossed his face. “But you didn’t run off did you? Never left, never let me know you were still in CI5, never called me.” His voice rose. “You never gave me a chance to explain my side, you sodding bastard. I -” His shoulders dropped in defeat. “Bloody hell Bodie, what’s the point of all this?”

“Ray, please. I need to explain.”

“You need.” Doyle went to the window and pulled up the shade. His fingers idly played with the cords. His back to Bodie he waved a hand for Bodie to continue. “Go on, then.”

“The op at the warehouse. I was already thinking about leaving CI5.”

Doyle’s back stiffened, but he said nothing.

“We were getting too close. We-”

Doyle interrupted with a snort. “I’d say. Having someone’s cock up your arse is pretty fucking close.” Doyle turned his head halfway towards Bodie. “Didn’t seem to be a problem when it was your cock in my bum.”

“On the op,” Bodie neatly sidestepped Doyle’s remark, “I was distracted. I wasn’t concentrating on the job, and you paid the price. And when you were shot, I couldn’t deal with it. It made my decision to leave - well – a bit easier. I knew I had to go.”

“Bollocks!” Doyle spun around, face red with anger. “Easy? It was easy to leave me because I got shot? So glad I could help you out there, mate.”

Bodie’s anger was up, too. “Why the hell did you run out in the open like that? Seems I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t thinking straight.”

“She was a little girl, you moron. She didn’t deserve to die like that!” His shout echoed eerily around the room.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Bodie’s voice was calm. Doyle recognized the attempt to bring himself back from the edge of his anger. “Tell me why you did it. We could have saved her without you sacrificing yourself.”

Doyle dropped into a chair and ran one hand through dishevelled curls – once, twice - trying to collect himself. The other was clenched into a tight fist on his thigh. The leg hurt like hell.

“My younger sister had a friend, Elan. About the same age as Jenny. They looked a bit alike, too. Long red hair bouncing in a pony tail. Elan followed me everywhere. Mum teased me about my ‘admirer’.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and stared out the window. “Her family pretty much ignored her. Mum took her in. Dammit, Bodie, she was family and I wasn’t able to help her.”

Bodie settled on the desk, facing Doyle. “I’m sorry, Ray. Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Yeah, because you’re so open with your past and all,” Doyle sneered.

Bodie held up his hands in surrender. He spoke in a soft voice. “All right. Tell me what happened.”

“Her old man happened. A drunk, cruel beast of a man, who felt he could only prove his worth by beating his family.”

Doyle looked up at Bodie. “I was all Elan had to watch out for her.” He stood up and moved back to the window. He tipped his head back and spoke to the air. “But I failed her, because I was too busy proving how much I didn’t need anybody, how tough I was.” He drew in a deep breath. “I came home late one night. I could hear him roaring from a block away. I’d had a bit to drink meself and it didn’t take any more than his voice to set me off. My Mum was at Elan’s house - was trying to get her and her mum out, but he held Elan. She was frightened and bit him and he threw her across the room. Her head hit the corner of the wall and she lay there, like a broken doll.

“I beat him bloody. A neighbour called the cops and I spent a week in the nick. It was an eye opener. I decided after that to straighten myself up, to get discipline. So I joined the police to help protect other people like Elan.”

“So it was guilt that made you move in the warehouse.”

“I couldn’t save her, Bodie. I couldn’t save Elan. She died because I failed her.” His voice cracked and he felt his cheeks redden at the vulnerability in the sound. “But this one, Jenny, her I could help. So I did.”

Bodie studied his ex-partner. Something was still missing. “You mean you put your life on the line for that little girl because you couldn’t save your sister’s friend?”

Doyle nodded. “Yeah, so now you know why I ran out on to that warehouse floor.” Doyle met Bodie’s gaze. “Why did you run out on me?”

“I told you,” Bodie insisted. “We were too close. You took on Gently’s assignment alone. Without a thought of what it would do to me.” Doyle watched Bodie lower his eyes. “You made it so I couldn’t protect you.”

Doyle felt his shoulders tense as his anger returned. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not some fragile nine-stone weakling!” His words were harsh and his voice rose. “And you’re not superman. You don’t have to save the world. You have to let me carry my own share of the load – and sometimes carry it all by myself. And sometimes I’m going to get my arse kicked. You can’t bugger off when that happens.”

Bodie looked away from him.

Doyle grabbed his chin and roughly turned Bodie’s face back towards him. His touch gentled as he ran a finger from Bodie’s temple to the corner of his lips. His voice softened. “Because when I fall, I need you to pick me up and dust me off and set me back on my feet again.” He put his hands on Bodie’s shoulders and shook him gently. “I need you to be here, you dumb pillock. Do you understand now?”

Bodie rubbed his hands over his face. “Still don’t understand why you had to do this –it cost you so much – pain, friends, a career you loved.” 

“I knew what I was doing – what could happen.”

“But was it worth it?”

Doyle closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know. To me, it was. No, it is.” The tenor of his words became more adamant. “After a dodgy start, my life has been all about protecting Joe Public from men like O’Shaunnesy, men like Elan’s father. First with the police and then CI5. I’ve always admired Gently. The way he stood up for what was right. The way he continued the fight even after his wife was killed.” Doyle shrugged. “Sorry, I’ll get of the bloody soapbox now.”

Bodie smiled at him. “Your good copper set me straight.”

“Oh, yes?”

Bodie rubbed his chin grinning. He pointed at the fading bruise decorating the side of his face. “For an old’un he has a strong right cross.”

“Met boxing champ, he was.”

“That explains it then.”

“What?”

“Too many blows to the head – causes idealism, that does.” Bodie ruffled Doyle’s curls.

“Berk.” Doyle ducked away from him.

“You disliked him, right from the first meeting. Why?”

Bodie shrugged.

“C’mon – this is me. I know you.”

“I couldn’t get a good feel for him. I didn’t know him – so there was nothing to use to form an opinion. He was all law and order, black and white, and so self-righteous.” Bodie waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I mean, here’s an old copper, he’s trying to clean up a very corrupt organization -”

“Editorial opinion based on your own past, eh?”

“Gently had more than one reason to hate those men. A normal person would want to do everything he could to bring them down – legal or not.”

“You’re talking vengeance, Bodie. Revenge. Gently was looking for justice.”

“There’s a very fine line between justice and vengeance, Ray.”

“Not for Gently.”

“For any man. Look, they had his wife killed. It would be enough to make a man cross over the line.” Bodie looked into Doyle’s eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t want him to drag you over it with him.”

His expression softening, Doyle reached out and cupped Bodie’s cheek. “You know me better than that.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against Bodie’s.

Bodie’s eyes widened in surprise, but he kept on explaining. “Your agreeing so readily to join him in the operation scared me, Ray. Seemed like maybe I didn’t know you as well as I thought. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I should have realised – after the mess with Preston and his wife - that this crusade as you called it, would give you reason to worry. But I wanted the chance to right some wrongs – and I didn’t consider the cost. My own line it seems. And I crossed it. And you left. And while I did do some good – it didn’t feel like a win.”

“C’mere, you.” Bodie reached out and pulled Doyle into his arms. They stood for a while just holding onto each other.

Doyle tipped his head so he could see Bodie’s eyes. “Promise me you won’t run out on me again – at least without giving me a chance to talk you out of it.”

Bodie’s breath ghosted across Doyle’s ear. “Never leave you again, mate.”

Doyle laughed quietly and felt Bodie’s muscles tense.

“Ray?” Bodie asked tentatively.

Doyle pulled back, but didn’t release Bodie. “I knew it couldn’t be this easy!” He shook Bodie. “Hard to hear meself over the sound of the gears spinnin’ in that hard head of yours.”

“Cowley -”

“Oh, now I know I’m not going to like this.” Doyle stepped away and rolled his eyes. “What has the old man come up with now?”

“Not so much of the old, Doyle.” Cowley stepped into the office and handed Doyle his abandoned cane.

Doyle sheepishly nodded his thanks.

“Ah, hello, sir.” Bodie bounced on his heels and rubbed his hands together. “I was just getting ready to tell Doyle, here, of your plans for us.”

Doyle’s eyes narrowed as he looked between his partner and his boss. “Plans?”

“Yes, Doyle. Plans.” Cowley studied both men. “As you know, Inspector Gently has turned in his retirement papers. The Minister was unable to convince him to stay with the Task Force. It seems Inspector Gently has suggested that there were two individuals affiliated with CI5 that might be interested in taking on the job.” Cowley raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Us?” Doyle’s eyes opened wide.

“I’m beginning to question your fitness for duty, 4.5 – at least your powers of observation.” Cowley gestured towards the pair. “Do you see anyone else here?”

“But-”

“3.7 has started the groundwork for the transition,” Cowley began, only to be interrupted by an in-drawn breath.

“Oh, he has , has he?” Doyle turned to Bodie with a fixed stare.

Bodie massaged the back of his neck. “Yes, well-”

“What exactly have you been doing since you “left” CI5, Bodie?”

Cowley interrupted the building tension. “Bodie has been acting as a liaison with Inspector Gently to transfer the control of the task force from the Met to CI5.”

“Working with the self-righteous, unbending, sanctimonious, stubborn prig?”

Bodie winced.

“Enough, Doyle,” Cowley ordered. “This is the best fit for everyone. Gently gets his retirement, the Minister gets his task force and I can continue to keep an eye on you both.”

“It is a win – win, sir.” Bodie chimed in agreeably.

Doyle rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see.” Cowley looked them both over before leaving the room. “My office, gentlemen. Seven hundred hours. Monday.”

They stood looking at each other for several minutes after Cowley left.

Bodie cleared his throat. “Are we good, now?”

Doyle winked at him. “That’s what I intend to find out.” Doyle reached up and ruffled Bodie’s hair. “C’mon.”

“Oh, yes?” Bodie snorted in amusement, using his hands to straighten his hair.

“Yes. I have plans for you, mate. And they don’t include Cowley, Gently, task forces, Ministers or corruption.” Doyle tapped Bodie’s chest with his cane to emphasise each word. “Well, maybe a bit of corruption.” He smiled cheekily.

“And bent coppers?”

Doyle tipped his head in consideration. “Possibly.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Bodie propelled Doyle down the corridor with a hand splayed on his partner’s arse.

 

**Epilogue**

Gently raised his glass of whisky and saluted the framed picture of his wife sitting on his desk. Picking up the photo he ran his finger gently over the surface of the glass tracing the line of her cheek. “It’s all over, Isabella. And I’m tired.” He finished the drink and let the alcohol burn through the sudden thickness in his throat. “The fight has been turned over to able hands.” Tucking the picture into his briefcase he looked around the office and headed for the door. He stopped at the threshold and turned back for one last look. With a nod of satisfaction, he turned off the light.

 _“An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.”_ ― Mahatma Gandhi

  


**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to macklingirl, shooting2kill and anna060957 for beta-ing, brit-checking, plot reviewing and test-reading. You were all a tremendous help!
> 
> Again, thanks to my two terrific artists mella68 and loxleyprince!
> 
> And a big THANKS to all my fellow mods for a great job on the Pros Big Bang!! We survived another one, mates!!


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